The New Avenger
by RhiannonWhite18
Summary: Ever since Loki's failed attempt at world domination, the Avengers have put on a good act at being a team. Maybe they even believe it themselves. But they're still missing one crucial part. A part they will find bleeding and injured in the middle of the desert. With this damaged man's help, true bonds of friendship are forged in fire, bonds that will last for lifetimes. *No slash*
1. The Doctor Is In

**Chapter One**

**Rating: ****T for violence, bloodshed, and the Avengers potty-mouths**

**Characters/pairings: ****Generally canon pairings like Pepperony and Clintasha. Jane might make an appearance at some point. No Loki though, I don't think. Sorry**

**Spoilers: ****Hmmm, probably all of the Marvel movies up to now.**

**Warnings: ****Ummm, cussing, probably no sex or nudity, but there will be depictions of torture, people getting shot and lots of blood. **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I totally own Marvel. That's why I'm huddled up with my computer in my room drooling over Chris Evan's booty, Hemsworth's abs and Jeremy's biceps. **

* * *

**_Courage isn't a matter of not being frightened, you know. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway._**

**_Doctor Who (Jon Pertwee)_**

* * *

The doctor was elbow deep in blood when the soldiers burst in. He ignored them, focusing on the gushing artery of the small body lying on the table. He heard, as though coming from a great distance, the cries of his nurse and anesthesiologist and the insistent bellowing of the armed thugs. Finally, once he had tied off the artery, he turned and glared at the intruders, his eyes flashing above his surgical mask.

"Goddammit, you'd better have a damn good reason for bursting in here like that!" he growled, his Southern accent thickening in his anger. "I'm in the middle of a very delicate and urgent surgery and you can't just…"

"You come! You come now!" The foremost soldier's heavy accent may have made it difficult to understand, but the assault rifle in his grip cleared up any confusion.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You'll have to wait your turn." With that, he turned back to the boy and reached for the scalpel. "Susan, come here, I need you." With a nervous glance at the armed men, the nurse returned to the table and handed over the scalpel.

The men passed startled glances between them and the one who had spoken first stepped forward, with a hesitancy that was at odds with his weapons.

Without looking up, the doctor barked, "If you take another step forward, I will use this scalpel to castrate you. I'm too close to pulling this boy through, to lose him because you contaminated the field." The soldier immediately froze, then took several steps back until he joined his friend by the door. There was a hurried discussion in Arabic, then one left, the other taking up a guard position in front of the door, keeping a cautious eye on the sharp scalpel. The only sounds were the terse surgical commands uttered by the doctor and the soft, nervous replies of the nurse.

Barely ten minutes had passed before the doors opened again. Another man strode in, hands stuffed in the pockets of a Westwood suit, a kufiya around his head.

"Dr. Hall, I believe that it would be in your best interests to come with me and my men. Now." The man spoke in perfectly accented English, but his dark skin and hair was proof of a different heritage.

"Like I told your yes-men over there, that's not going to happen." The doctor hadn't even glanced up to take in the newest interloper.

"Oh, I believe it will, Dr. Hall, or your lovely assistant here will be the one needing a doctor." One of the soldiers leveled his gun at the nurse who gave a sharp gasp and dropped the instrument she'd been handing the doctor. At this new threat, the doctor's head snapped up, his strange eyes blazing furiously. He finished tying the suture and stepped forward, snapping off his bloody gloves and pulling down his mask.

"Listen, asshole. I am up to my fucking funny bone in this boys intestines and if I leave now, that means he dies. Ergo, I am not leaving. And threats are not a great way to get on my good side." He stood nose to nose with the leader, red blood dripping from the gloves he held loosely in one hand.

The man studied the fierce features of the American before him and felt a grudging amount of respect. "Then what is it that we must do to convince you to come with us?" The way he spoke gave no confusion that one way or another, the good doctor _would_ be going with them. Hearing this conviction caused the doctor to hesitate, his mind working calculations frantically. Finally, he answered, his voice taking on a pleading tone mixed with the defiance a Southerner was bred into.

"Give me an hour. One hour to get this boy off of Death's Doorstep. After that, I will come with you and do whatever it is you want. Just give me that one hour."

"And if we don't?" From his tone, it sounded as though the turbaned man was discussing whether to have salmon or chicken for tonight's dinner.

"Then nothing you do will convince me to do anything for you. Trust me, by the time you torture me into submission, whoever it is you want me to fix this badly, will be long dead."

Their eyes remained locked as the man seemed to mull over the doctor's words and his conviction.

"One hour, and not a minute more, Dr. Hall." He turned and left the room, followed by the guards, one of whom took up a stance outside the doors. Dr. Casey let out a slow breath and turned back to the operating table, pulling his mask back up.

"New gloves, please, Susan."

With the newly imposed time limit, Cooper Hall knew he couldn't take the time he needed to ensure every piece of shrapnel was out of the young boy's body. Fortunately, he had already amputated the leg before he'd been interrupted. As the hour drew to a close, Brent stepped away from the operating table with a sigh, yanking his bloody scrubs off and tossing them into the hamper next to the door.

"Keep an eye on him. He should be waking up within the next couple hours. Keep him on the morphine. Have one of the other doctors check him periodically. Watson should do if he's back, he's worked with amputees before. And take care of his family, if they're still here. Make sure they have plenty of food." As he spoke, he had moved to the sink, leaving the boy in the care of the nervous anesthesiologist.

"Cooper, are you going to be okay?" Susan looked at the doctor she had admired since her first time working with him in an operating room. They'd been in the middle of a war zone, bombs falling so close they had made the operating trays shake and clatter. Everyone had been running on fumes and adrenaline, mostly thanks to the enormous amounts of coffee the cooks had kept them supplied with.

Then, this man had walked in, like a full-blown miracle from heaven. Fresh off the plane, and younger by several decades than the other surgeons and plenty of the nurses, he had woken them up with his infectious cheer and jokes bordering on the lewd. His flirtations with the nurses had had them giggling like interns. All in all, this man had succeeded completely in distracting every single person in the operating room from the imminent danger, until the danger ceased. It had taken several moments for someone to comprehend the meaning of the silence, and when everyone else had realized, there had been a collective cheer.

Once the session was over and the surgeons and assisting staff could leave for some much needed sustenance, Cooper had been bombarded with nurses, all wanting to be the first to catch the handsome young doctor's eye. But, completely against his behavior within the operating room, the doctor had simply smiled and brushed them off, friendly and polite, yet distant. Everyone had been shocked. The way he'd acted, most of the Doctors Without Borders staff had been taking bets on how long it would take him to seduce one of the nurses, or vice versa. None of the bets had gone above seven hours. But it just hadn't happened. He still flirted, but not once did he invite someone back to his room or into the supply closet. Naturally, this caused some speculation about his sexual preferences, but there was no indication that he batted for the other team, much to the disappointment of several men on the base. Cooper Hall was simply a mystery. But no one could dispute his almost unnatural ability to keep someone alive on his table, even a body that a much more experienced surgeon would have passed on. He had surpassed every record ever set, that anyone could possibly think of. It wasn't any surprise that the staff had started calling him "Mr. Miracle", a nickname that had followed him into every camp he'd visited.

Susan was brought out of her remembrances by a light touch under her chin. The doctor gave her a crooked smile, but his eyes were shadowed.

"Don't worry about me. You've got enough on your plate here. I'll be fine."

Somehow, those hollow reassurances didn't help.

* * *

**Kay, I've updated this story several times since I first uploaded it. One of the major changes that I made is that the protaganist's name is now Cooper Hall, as opposed to Brent Casey. No big reason, except I've been calling him by his last name for the most part and I'm beginning to think "Casey" is his actual name!**

**If you like Brent Casey better, feel free to tell me, and I might change it back.**

**As always, thanks for reading and I hope you press the next button.**


	2. Til Death Do Us Part

**Chapter Two**

**_What lies in our power to do, lies in our power not to do._**

**_Aristotle_**

* * *

Cooper Hall had spent a lot of time around the dead or dying. Being a doctor, it sort of went with the territory. He wasn't squeamish by any meaning of the word. He had preformed surgery on everyone from a desert herd-boy to a Colombian drug lord. He had never walked away from anyone in need of his help. From the point they reached his operating table to the point he sewed them up, their history never existed. He had lived by that code ever since medical school. But here and now, he had never felt so much hatred toward one of his patients as he did the man lying in front of him.

His new-found friends had given him a rigorous account of the terrorists, his _patient's_, injuries on the lengthy car ride over. The list was long and detailed, burns and shallow gashes mostly, but the worst and most critical, was an open depressed skull fracture at the base of the skull that penetrated through to the brain, as well as an epidermal hematoma centered behind the left ear. One by itself was complicated, but together… Cooper had mentally gone through every surgical procedure he had ever learned or heard of. In his experience, nothing would give this man a chance of over 8% of living. But this wasn't his first rodeo and he could take a hint from threatening expressions of the men who had sat across from him in the car and the way they stroked their guns. He didn't get a choice about whether or not this man lived. Either he lived, or Cooper died.

"Get to work, please." The man's tone gave express indication that this wasn't a request. Cooper shot a derisive glance at the as yet unnamed man and moved to the dying man's side.

The next half hour was filled with hasty movement as Cooper took control of the mediocre medical staff this base offered. He supposed that, by most standards and in most situations that a small village doctor would face, these medics would be halfway decent, but here and now, faced with an injury like this, this, they were completely out of their depth. Finally, Cooper had finished prepping his patient along with his staff and was scrubbing in the most sanitary place he could find, which amounted to what appeared to be the kitchen sink.

"Will he live?" Cooper jerked, splashing water everywhere.

"Jesus, man, get a bell or something." Cooper carefully dried his hands on the nearest towel and shot a nasty glare at the suited man standing in the doorway.

The man ignored the words and asked again, "Will he live?"

Cooper glanced at him, then back down at his hands, studying the way the water washed off the soap bubbles. "Do you want me to be honest, or tell you want you want to hear?" The man simply stared at him in silence, his dark eyes blank, and, after risking another glance, Brent sighed. "All right. The truth is he might live. And that is a very slim might. The type of wound he has and the conditions under which you expect me to operate make this very difficult. His brain has practically been pulverized and is currently, quite literally, bleeding out of his skull."

The man continued looking at him, his eyes icy cold. "Dr. Hall, perhaps you do not realize the delicateness of the situation you are in, so let me explain it in a way you will understand. If he dies, you shall die. Is that understood?"

"Let's get one thing clear, asshole," Cooper stepped up to the man, narrowing his eyes threateningly, bringing up the confidence that he hadn't been taught at Howard, but had learned the first time he'd faced the parents of a child caught in a land mine blast. "I'm a doctor. That means I save lives. It doesn't matter whose it is. This guy could be Adolf Hitler and I would still do my upmost to get him off of that operating table alive. You do not possess a threat that would make me perform better, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop trying." He held the man's gaze for a few more moments, waiting for his words to sink in, for both the Arabic man standing across from him and for himself.

"Now, would you get the door? We wouldn't want anything to contaminate the field."

* * *

12 and a half hours later, Cooper was walking out of the operating room, stripping off his scrubs and wishing desperately that he could have some whiskey. Or beer. Hell, he'd even take one of those fruity pink drinks the nurses were so fond of when they went on leave, he wasn't picky. His desperate yearnings came to a screeching halt, however, when he saw the man leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, an expression of classic bad guy foreboding on his face.

"Well?"

"Well. He's alive. Will he stay that way? I have no idea." Cooper turned to the gurney being wheeled out and crossed to it, placing his fingers on the unconscious man's pulse, frowning, frowning, but not surprised at the threadiness of it. "Get him to his room," he ordered the medics. He followed them, ignoring the hard stare of the other man and remembering fondly a small restaurant in the states with the greasiest burgers and the driest martinis.

A soldier came up to his commander and saluted. "There is a communication for you, sir. It is from…them."

A slow smile, devoid of humor, crossed his face. "Good."

* * *

"You rang, sir?" Nick Fury looked up from the file on his desk at the dry tone of the field agent.

"Coulson, we've got a bit of a problem." He gestured for the man to sit down and pushed a picture of a dark haired man over to him. "What do you remember about Cooper Hall?"

"That it was a difficult mission," Phil Coulson said immediately, frowning, picking up the photo of the older profile of a vaguely familiar man. "And... a difficult recovery. But if I remember correctly, with the use of funds from SHIELD and a full scholarship, he managed to gather a semblance of a normal life as a...doctor. Is that right?"

"Yeah, unfortunately he thought he hadn't had enough danger in his lifetime and decided to join Doctors Without Borders. He's been to Columbia, Bolivia, the majority of the Middle East and most recently Egypt, where he has now gotten himself kidnapped by a local terror group."

"As much as I sympathize for the man, the employees of these volunteer groups know the risks of traveling to these hotspots. What makes this a SHIELD matter? " Coulson asked, placing the picture back on the desk.

"Intel suggests that these particular terrorists are linked to a HYDRA cell," Fury replied tersely and Coulson grimaced.

"And it would certainly be bad if HYDRA got their hands on a meta-human, especially one of Hall's abilities and intelligence, not to mention his connection to SHIELD." Coulson looked grim at this thought.

"Exactly. If," Fury grimaced at this, "This HYDRA cell manages to…_convince_ Hall to join them, I think even the Avenger's would have a difficult time against him."

"And you'd like to nip the danger in the bud and get to him before the enemy does," Coulson said, nodding thoughtfully. It was good plan. The Avengers, while they would attract more attention, also had the double good of sending a signal that this doctor was under SHIELD's protection.

Coulson stood carefully. While he had received the all clear from SHIELD's medical team several weeks ago, he still occasionally felt a painful twinge around his wound. "I'd better get the team prepped then."

Fury nodded distractedly, tapping out a message on his keyboard. "As soon as we find out the exact location and layout of the camp, the mission will be free to commence." Coulson continued towards the door, but paused as Fury spoke again.

"Coulson…" Fury hesitated and Coulson turned his head, his hand still on the doorknob. "You might want to tell Barton in private."

* * *

**Yay for the Avengers! Hmm, so why is a random doctor so important? Is that really Phil Coulson or is it a body double? Does Thor think strawberry poptarts are the best?**

**...**

**Okay, I might have gone overboard with that last comment, but still, continue with your reading and rating and reviewing! Any questions, all you have to do is ask! I just love getting messages**


	3. Join the Red Cross, It'll Be Fun!

**Chapter 3**

**_There are certain things men must do to remain men._**

**_James T. Kirk_**

* * *

_Become a volunteer, they said. It'll be fun, they said! Damn liars. _Cooper rolled onto his side, hissing as he jostled his ribs. _Well, __on the bright side, I don't think they're actually broken, just really, really bruised. _He groaned as a man's foot slammed into his stomach, flipping him onto his back. _Belay that, they're broken. _Cooper squinted at the bright light and flinched as the dark shadow of a man eclipsed it.

"I told you that if you let him die, then you would die." The doctor was starting to hate that voice with a passion. "It just goes to show you that sometimes we must all, as you Americans say, 'eat our words.'

Cooper held his breath, hardly daring to believe it. Was this bastard saying what he thought he was?

"It would seem that you have attracted the attention of several interested parties. Parties that are willing to pay large sums of money for you, alive." Cooper could feel his heart stutter as horror clouded his mind.

_No, god, no. Not again, please, not again. Please._

"But until these buyers are sorted out, I have you all to myself." The figure bent down and a hand gripped his hair, hauling him to his feet. Cooper groaned as he was shoved against the wall, his ribs protesting at the treatment. "And believe me when I say, you are going to pay for what you have taken from me."

And the pain began.

Cooper lost count of how many men came and went, never letting up on the blows that were aimed haphazardly at his body. He lost count of how many times he felt something shift, something give and break. He lost count of how often he had been at the brink of blissful unconsciousness, only to be dragged back with a harsh dunking in freezing water.

Finally, he had a reprieve. If he had had the energy to guess, he would have said it was the time for prayer. But he didn't have the energy to guess. He barely had the strength to drink the water they had left behind, barely a quarter of cup that some soldier had forgotten about, but blissful nirvana to the doctor.

Cooper leaned against the adobe wall, breathing short, shallow breaths. Anything deep and he would be gasping from the pain in his ribs. Keeping his breath shallow was getting to be difficult as he felt the darkness pressing in on him from all sides, bringing back monsters from the past.

_Stay calm, stay calm. Have to… have to keep your mind busy. What injuries do you have? _As gruesome as it sounded, the listing his injuries calmed him.

_Several scalp lacerations. Probable concussion._

_Severe bruising along the shoulders. Difficulty with mobility of the arms._

_Four broken ribs, four more cracked. Danger of a punctured lung._

_Severe bruising to the abdomen. Possible damaged kidney._

_Severe bruising to the hips and pelvic area. Mobility limited._

_ Wrenched right knee. Mobility limited even more._

_And of course my wrists are rubbed raw because of these damn ropes._

"Damn, I'm a mess," Cooper grunted as pain blossomed along his jaw as he spoke out loud. _And to make matters worse, I can't even use my damn powers to get out of here because I used them all up on that damn terrorist._

* * *

"Come on, breathe, you fis femel chen!" Cooper cursed as he pounded the dead man's chest with his fists, ignoring the panicked cries of the other medical staff. For supposed professionals, they certainly lost their heads easily. Although, considering the amount of guns around this place, he couldn't say he blamed them.

_There's nothing for it, you have to do it._ That annoyingly moral voice was nagging again.

_If I do it, it'll give me away, _the more realistic side of him argued back.

_If you don't do it, he'll die._

Cooper growled furiously, letting out another Creole curse on his breath. He hated it when his moral half won the arguments, especially considering that it usually meant he was going to get into trouble.

"Get out," he turned to the staff huddled by the door. They stared at him incomprehensibly. "GET OUT!" He roared, stepping towards them. They nearly fell over themselves rushing through the door. When the door snapped closed, the doctor whirled back to the bed and gently, almost hesitantly, placed his palm on the man's bare chest, right over where his heart should have been beating.

Cooper took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Breath with me," he whispered, closing his eyes and _feeling_. He could feel the ebb and flow of the man's blood, moving sluggishly through the man's veins. He could feel the tiny pulses the brain was still giving off, pulses that were growing further and further apart. Taking another breath, Cooper placed his hand on his patient's temples and urged those pulses back to life. As they grew, Cooper drew his hand down the man's face and neck to his chest, drawing a path along his veins for the life saving pulses to follow.

And for the third time, he took a breath and then he _pushed_. Not with his hands, but with his heart. He pushed his own energy into the body lying in front of him, pushing it into the lifeless heart, lending his own strength to his patient.

If anyone had been in the room at the time, they would have seen, just on the edge of the visible light spectrum, a purple glow where the doctor's hands met the body. If someone had been looking into Cooper's eyes, they would have seen something even stranger. Two multi-colored, one gray and the other dark violet. The gray eye was focused on the man before him, while the violet one had begun glowing with iridescent light, matching the glow surrounding his hands.

To the man doing the healing, the man using his own life force to bring another back from the brink of death, it felt like hours had passed before the chest he was gripping rose in a shallow breathing pattern that gradually got deeper until, finally, Brent pulled away and his patient was breathing on his own.

Cooper collapsed into the chair beside the bed, burying his face in his palms and breathing almost as shallowly has his patient. He trembled as though he was cold, but sweat had drenched his shirt. He didn't even flinch as the door opened and nervous footsteps walked into the room.

"He is alive," a soft, astounded voice spoke and Brent slowly lifted his tired eyes to the small man in front of him who was taking the vitals of the man lying on the table. "You saved him." The smaller doctor turned dark brown eyes to the man in the seat, his sharp eyes taking in the trembling hands, hands that had been completely steady in surgery while being covered by men with assault weapons.

"Are you well, Dr. Hall?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Cooper forced a light chuckle and got to his feet. Or at least he tried to. He'd barely straightened when a wave of dizziness hit him, sending back into his seat awkwardly. "It's all right, I'm good," Cooper waved off the concerned doctor who had moved to help him. Hesitantly, the doctor moved away.

"If you are sure?" Cooper just grinned wearily at the physician who quietly moved a chair to the other side of the bed and sat, still watching Cooper carefully. "Is there anything you require?"

"There doesn't happen to be a McDonald's around, does there?" Cooper said, not quite joking, "Cause I could really go for a Big Mac."

"I am afraid there is no McDonald's, however I will inform one of my assistants to retrieve food for you." The doctor stood again and went to the door, opening it and speaking to whoever was on the other side in an Arabic dialect.

"Heavy on the carbs, please," Brent told him as he shifted in his chair, leaning his head back against the wall, yawning broadly. He ignored the footsteps that approached the bed again and the accompanying creak of the other chair as it was sat in.

"How is it that you managed to revive the Emir? His heart had stopped when I left." Cooper cracked an eye and looked at the doctor's earnest expression.

"Just pure dumb luck, I guess. And good old fashioned Southern stubbornness. I'm a huge fan of stubbornness." Cooper closed his eyes again and, ignoring the part of his brain that was whispering _sleep, sleep,_ asked a question that had been nudging his mind for a while.

"So what's your story?"

"I am sorry?"

"How did a decent physician like you get roped into a job like this. Sure as hell can't be for the health benefits."

The long silence was only interrupted by the rhythmic beeps of the machines hooked up to the patient. Cooper cracked open a reluctant eyelid and glanced over at the doctor who was staring at his hands, a gloomy look on his face.

"My nephew, he was, how do you say, _shanghaied_ into joining these men. He told them about me, that I was a doctor, and they found me. They brought me here, several years ago."

"What about your nephew?" Cooper could guess what had happened, judging by the devastated look on the doctor's face.

"He died, killed by one of their own mines."

"So why do you stay? Why not go back home to your village?"

"They would find me. And," he shrugged, "It is not such a bad job. I have a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, and food every day. That is something most people in this country would be grateful for. Also, I found I could not leave these men. Most of them are like my nephew, foolish young men who believe they are making a difference. They are not evil people, only misguided boys."

They fell into silence again which was broken by a man bringing in a meal for Cooper. Hungrily, Cooper tore into it, pausing as he noticed the amused faces of the two Arabians. "What?" he said defensively, gripping his chicken tightly, "I'm hungry."

* * *

**Poor Cooper, I'm an absolutely horrible person, aren't I? But it's ok, cause Cooper is my character, so I can torture him all I want!**

_**Wait, don't I get a say in the matter?**_

**No, Cooper, you don't, so shush.**

_**I hate you.**_

**Hey, I'm the one who created you. So some gratitude, why don't you?**

_**...**_

**Oh, the silent treatment. Real mature.**

**_fis femel chen _is Haitian Creole for son of a bitch. Cooper's mother was the daughter of French immigrants in Haiti before she moved to Florida when she was a teenager, so he picked up the language from her.  
**

**If my language is wrong, I'm sorry and please feel free to correct me. **


	4. Twist of the Knife

**Ch. 4**

_**Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family, but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.**_

_**Warren G. Harding**_

* * *

_He could smell the barbeque. Dad was standing on the back porch, his arm wrapped around Mom. They were laughing._

_Two girls were setting out plates, laughing about something he couldn't hear. The other girl was holding the baby, a look of disgust on her face as he burped. Two boys, one just entering his teens and the other not yet out of the baby fat stage, were playing football in the yard._

_It was peaceful._

_It was happy._

He was drugged. That was the only explanation.

The only explanation for why he kept remembering things he had kept buried for so long. He was remembering his childhood, his family, the Cyprus glade he'd lived in. He didn't want to remember. Those memories hurt too much.

With a struggling wrench, he pulled his attention back to the door as it slammed against the wall. His vision was tunneled, but he recognized his tormentor, the man he was finally able to name, thanks to a conversation with the bases' doctor, just before this whole thing went to hell in a hand basket.

"You are lucky, Cooper Hall," Muhsin Rais told the doctor lying on the bed, various IV's running into his arms. His eyes were hazy, but surprisingly focused as the new leader leaned against the wall, pulling a knife from his belt and casually twirling it through his hands as he talked.

Cooper tried to say, "Funny, I don't feel lucky," but all that came out was, but all that came out was a slur of indistinguishable vowels and constant.

Rais grinned, Cooper wasn't sure whether it was at the meaning of the words or the fact that his prisoner couldn't speak, and leaned forward, bracing his arms on the cot. "The buyers are coming for you soon. Your punishment shall be at an end. But before you go, I shall leave you with a small remembrance of your time here."

Muhsin stepped back slightly, a cold sneer spreading across his face and a faint expression of maniacal glee in his eyes. Cooper watched, his brow furrowing in bewilderment that slowly turned to panic as the terrorist brought up the dagger he'd been holding by his side, the steel catching the faint light.

"I took this dagger from one of your American military's, Navy SEALS, I believe they're called. It's a fine knife. I have used it to great effect. But foolish me, you cannot see it from where you are lying." The dark-skinned man moved closer, close enough that the knife brushed the drugged doctor's cheek. "I sharpen it daily. See?"

Methodically, he dragged the serrated knife, from the corner of Cooper's left eye, down to his jaw. Cooper let a muffled cry of shock and pain, and flailed desperately against his restraints. He closed his eyes against the blood pooling up in the corner and gagged as it seeped into his mouth, his stomach rolling at the iron taste.

Muhsin stepped back, throwing back in head in a fit of laughter, amused at the helpless man before him. "But I have not shown you the best part. This knife is not only wonderful for small slices, but also for stabbing."

Cooper was so deeply drugged that, at first, he didn't know what had happened. For the first few seconds he could feel nothing. Then, Muhsin twisted the knife and Cooper screamed, his head twisting back and the veins in his neck standing out clearly.

He could feel it now. He couldn't even move his hand. The knife had gone through it and into the bed. Every automatic twitch was torment; with every heartbeat, he could feel it.

Muhsin gripped the handle and slowly pulled it, making sure to twist it as he did. Every strangled cry Cooper uttered was a chorus of Mozart symphonies to the man's ears. Finally, the knife was pulled out and the blood was dripping onto the floor.

The terrorist watched dispassionately as Cooper sobbed and thrashed feebly against his bonds, the open wounds that had been inflicted pooling on the bed. He wasn't smiling any longer. Instead, there was a hard, angry look on his face.

"You took away something of importance to me, now I've taken away something that is important to you." He leaned down and spoke quietly in Cooper's ear. "But do not make the mistake of believing, for one _second_, that this means we are even."

The shutting of the door didn't register through the haze of pain that was clouding Cooper's mind. He was dimly aware that someone was crying, and then he realized it was himself.

"Hurts. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts…" He repeated this litany over and over, until the words became monotonous, working with the drugs and dulling his mind.

_It was dark._

_It was cold._

_Why was it cold? It shouldn't be cold. Not here._

_It was wet. Was that why he was cold?_

_He wanted his mom. He wanted his dad. He wanted his family._

_He was moving now. It wasn't walking, so much as crawling._

_He couldn't see, but that didn't matter. He walked this path so often, he could've done it in his sleep. Maybe he was asleep. That would explain the wetness trailing down his arm and chest, the wetness that he knew shouldn't be there. The wetness he knew was blood._

_He wanted his mom. He wanted his dad._

_He could see the house lights through the trees. There was music playing, weaving through the air, light-hearted and fun._

_He was almost home._

_ He tried to call out, but he couldn't make his voice work. He stumbled forward onto his knees, through the tree line, onto the grass. He moved his mouth, whispering, "Mom."_

_ How did his mom hear him?_

_ Suddenly, she was at the door, screaming for his dad. Everyone ran out, he could hear their voices babbling overtop one another's. _

_ Then they stopped._

_ Why did they stop? _

_ He needed them._

_ Where were they?_

_ He could hear his mom's voice. It was so soft. She sounded…scared. Why was she scared? It was just him. _

_ Something was wrong. It felt like the time Becky had dared him to touch a candle. It burned. It hurt. _

_ They were talking again._

_ They sounded scared._

_ Why were they scared?_

_ Something was wrong._

_ Why was the light purple?_

_ It shouldn't be purple. That wasn't right. _

_ The burning was getting worse and worse. He could hear his mom calling for him. He could hear his sisters scream._

_ It hurt._

_ He screamed._

The doctor's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in short, fast breaths. He could taste blood in his mouth. With an effort, he slowed his breath, lessening the pain on his ribs.

His hand hurt. Why did his hand hurt?

Oh. Right.

That's why.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He looked.

And nearly passed out again.

His hand was a mess. He couldn't even see the complete damage because of all the blood. He must have been unconscious for a while. The blood had dried in a circular ring, but the blood around his injury was still liquid.

Liquid.

He looked back down at his hand, then at the straps that secured him to the bed.

Hmmm.

He twisted his hand experimentally, hissing softly when the dried blood pulled on his skin. Finally, he was able to move his hand freely and he smiled. He began shifting it back and forth, letting out a soft cry as the dried blood ripped open and his hand began bleeding again. The blood began leaking down his arm. He started to pull his hand through the leather rings and let out another gasp as he hit his wound against the bindings. Hissing through his teeth, he ignored the pain and kept pulling. Slicked with the blood, his hand began slip through. A scream ripped out of his throat as he wrenched his hand out of the straps. Blood poured out of his newly reopened stab wound as he held his arm to his chest, struggling to breath through the pain that tore through his hand. His vision began growing dark and he frantically grabbed at the leather cuffs that held his other hand, desperate to get free before he passed out again. His nails scrabbled uselessly against the straps as he faded.

* * *

**The knife that Muhsin uses to torture Brent is an SOG SEAL knife 2000, an actual knife that's issued only to Navy SEALs. The reason I chose this one is because it's big and very scary looking, perfect for a terrorist like Muhsin. This also serves to make him a bit more dangerous. After all, how many people can take down the SEALs?**

**Well, you met Cooper's parents and it was all one big happy family reunion! *looks at Cooper who's currently sobbing in a corner* More or less...**

**Umm, on a slightly happier note, the Avengers make an appearance in the next chapter. That's good. Right?**


	5. You Always Remember Your First

**Chapter 5**

_**Evil brings men together.**_

_**Aristotle**_

* * *

Tony watched the archer directing Steve, checking to make sure he remembered the instructions from his previous flights. Although he had flown before, Steve was still very much, a rookie pilot. As Clint directed Steve, his trademark easy-going smile was in place, but it looked strained and Tony fancied he could see the beginnings of worry lines creasing his forehead.

"So, Romanoff," the billionaire said off-handedly, and she looked up from the pistol she had been inspecting. "What's the story between our Hawk and this doctor? Were they friends in the circus, did they go to spy school together, what?"

The Black Widow glanced towards the cockpit where her partner was laughing at something Steve had said. For all the years she'd known him, all the missions they'd gone on together, she couldn't remember him being this worried about an extraction.

Glancing back at Tony, she saw that Bruce and Thor had leaned in slightly and she sighed. She hated answering questions.

"You know, Stark, normally I'd tell you that it's none of your business, but this time, I honestly have to admit, I don't know the full story."

Tony leaned back in his seat in shock, placing his hand over his chest dramatically. "I thought you two knew everything about each other, like you were a pair of freaky telepathic Siamese twins or something." Natasha glared at him for that and casually slide her knife from her boot sheathe, enjoying the way Tony's eyes flitted nervously to the blade.

"Dr. Hall was from a mission before I joined SHIELD. Clint's mentioned it a couple times, but he's never gone into full detail. And I never asked." After all, there were some things that even partners as close as the two spies didn't know about the other.

"I've heard about Hall." Three sets of eyes turned to the scientist and he smiled at their surprised looks. "The medical field isn't big enough that a man of his abilities would go unnoticed. And we happen to frequent the same areas."

"So, he's really that good?" Tony looked doubtful. In his experience, most doctors had an overblown sense of their own importance and capabilities. In that respect, they were a lot like him.

"He's better," Bruce said simply. "Considering the war zones where most of his patients come from, the percentage who survive is amazing."

"So, this doctor," Thor finally spoke up, cocking his head slightly to the side as he considered Bruce seriously, "He is a scientist, similar to you?"

"Well, yes and no," Bruce said, frowning as he wondered how to explain it to the Asgardian, who, although he was picking up on things fast, still had a limited understanding of the fine lines between things. "I'm a nuclear physicist. I work with atoms and nuclear powers, like gamma radiation. Cooper Hall works with people. He's a healer."

"Ah." Thor nodded knowingly, then frowned. "What is an atom?"

As Bruce leaned in to explain, Tony moved to the seat beside Natasha. "So, you don't know _anything_? Like why Barton looked like his favorite puppy got kicked when we got the file? Or why he's been so quiet the past 24 hours? Because him being that quiet goes against the laws of nature. He didn't even wince at my quip about him and how attractive he'd look in purple spandex."

The assassin glanced at her teammate and for once, saw only concern on his face. Biting back the smart remark that had sprung to her lips, she looked back down at her gun, choosing to focus on the weapon she had already checked twice rather than look at Tony's earnest expression.

"People say you always remember your first," Natasha said, tugging at her shirt absent mindedly. "In my experience, that goes double for assassins. Dr. Hall was Hawkeye's first. His first mission with SHIELD. The first life he saved. I may not be aware of all the facts pertaining to the mission, but I do know how important it was to him."

"It's where he proved himself. He proved he wasn't just a killer, but a hero," Banner's voice was thoughtful, understanding.

"Then this mission is personal for our Hawk." Thor's voice was abnormally soft.

"Very personal," the Widow agreed, looking back at the cockpit, at her partner as he laughed too loudly, too forced at something the Captain had said.

He never could lie worth a damn.

* * *

They never knew what hit them was Hawkeye's first, satisfied thought, as an arrow sprouted from the chest of a guard, another swiftly following it before the man's stunned partner could even reach for his gun.

"We're good to go. Stark?"

"Bout time, Bird Brain," the billionaire grumbled, "My air conditioning is on the fritz. Do you know how hot it is in here?"

"Obviously not hot enough to shut you up, considering the way you've been running your mouth for the last ten minutes," Hawkeye commented, reaching for another arrow. "Are you in position?"

"Yup, and raring to go."

Before Hawkeye could say anything, a streak of red and gold had slammed into the metal door, caving it in. Over Iron Man's comm, Hawkeye could hear the rapid fire of machine guns.

"Thor, Captain, you're up," Natasha said from the Quinjet where she and Banner were staying until the bullets calmed down. They were here for a rescue, not to bring the entire building down if the Hulk got up close and personal with a bullet.

Hawkeye climbed from the tree he had perched in and followed his teammates as they joined Iron Man. It wasn't a particularly long fight. He doubted the terrorists were quite prepared to face down a Norse god, a living suit of armor, and an American legend.

Arrow at the ready, he left his teammates to their finishing up and made his way carefully down the halls.

_If I were an evil kidnapper of doctors, where would I hide him?_ Hawkeye asked himself, peeking around a corner. _Aha._

Four very large blokes, each wielding very large guns, were guarding the hallway, each pointing their weapons in the same direction. Straight at him. All right, no problem. He pulled back as bullets ricocheted on the stone walls and smiled grimly. Fine, if that was how they wanted to play things, he'd go along. He selected one of his "special arrows", one of the ones Stark had given him. He wasn't quite sure what it did, but if Stark had made it, it had to be good.

He closed his eyes as the gunfire came to a stop, fingering his bow, bringing up the scene he'd glimpsed briefly. His recall was perfect, and, as he brought his bow up and fired, his arrow ricocheted off the wall and struck exactly where he wanted it to, between the feet of the foremost soldier. The archer grinned at the muffled yelps the men let out. There was a moment of hesitation, then a choked laugh.

"You have missed, Archer," one of the soldiers announced, sounding like he was cautiously moving closer.

"Three, two, one," Clint counted off the average time it took for one of Stark's arrows to do something.

He wasn't disappointed.

With a crash and a bang, two of the men were blown off their feet and into the wall from the force of the explosion. Before they could recover, Hawkeye had leapt into the hallway, disabling one of the still standing men with a stab to the bicep and the other with a simple kick to the groin, followed by an elbow snap to the soft part of his throat. He ignored their moaning as he moved to the door and turned the handle.

"Shit!" He yelped and yanked his hand back, automatically bringing it up to his mouth as he nursed the bright red burn that had come with the spark of electricity that had traveled through the door and through the conductive metal handle.

He took a step back, bringing his hand down and studying the door. He couldn't see any sign of wires, which meant it must have been wired from the inside, which would have been a difficult feat, but still manageable if you knew enough about electricity. Clint had no doubts that he could get past it, but it would take time.

"Need some help, Link?" And here came his favorite time-saver.

"Stark, good timing," he said, turning to the man in the metal suit, "I need you to take down this door. It's electrocuted and it'll take too long for me to get through."

"Right." For once, Stark sounded serious. Briefly, Hawkeye wondered if he'd gotten hit in the head, then stepped back as Iron Man raised his gauntlet.

He turned his head away from the heat of the blast as the door crashed inwards. The room had been pitch black, but the mixture of light from both the florescent overheads in the corridor and Tony's glowing suit made it fairly easy to see. He stepped forward and grimaced as his sense of smell adjusted to the acrid scent of the smoke and noticed something darker.

"God, do you smell that?" Tony gagged as he stepped over the threshold, carelessly stepping on the still sparking door. "It smells like…."

He never finished his sentence.

* * *

**Yay, an entire chapter of Avengers goodness! I know, cliffhangers are horrible, but for an author, they're so fun!**


	6. Robin Hood to the Rescue

**Chapter 6**

_**Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.**_

_**Anais Nin**_

* * *

Tony's voice cut off in mid-sentence as he was slammed against the wall, leaving him gasping in shock. Static filled his ears as JARVIS cut out, leaving him alone.

"…rk!" Tony blinked as he heard someone who wasn't JARVIS shout at him. "Stark! Are you okay?" Oh, that's right.

"I'm fine, Rambo," Tony grumbled, struggling to sit upright. He had the uncomfortable feeling that an elephant was sitting on his chest, but other that that, he was good.

"JARVIS, you there, buddy?" Tony tapped his comm and winced as it echoed through his head. "JARVIS?"

"My apologies, sir," the British accented robot finally answered and Tony held in a sigh of relief.

"What happened?"

"It appears that I was knocked from your circuits, sir, by an unexpected bolt of energy."

"Woah, what? What are you talking about? That's impossible! I made sure of it!"

The AI ignored his comments and continued. "Sir, it seems that the same energy signature that forced me from your servers is currently draining your suit of power. The suit is currently at 85% and decreasing rapidly."

"Iron Man, what's going on?" For the first time, Tony noticed Hawkeye hovering almost protectively over him, sweeping the room with a suspicious look.

"Something's draining the suits power. Something, by the way, which should not be possible. You can't just drain my suits like a laptop. This is not an Apple product."

"78%."

"JARVIS, track the source," Tony snapped, trying to drag himself to his feet.

"Sir, it is not electrical in origin. It appears to be biological."

"What? How is that even…"

"Stark, I found our target." Hawkeye's voice sounded different than it had just seconds before. It sounded strained, angry. Worried even.

"What? Where?"

"Right there." Tony followed his teammates nod to a cot in the corner. And on the cot…Tony swallowed down the bile that had begun moving up his stomach. "JARVIS, tell Bruce that I think we'll be needing a doctor. Or three. Along with enough blood bags to feed an army of the undead."

"Sir, the communication lines are being interfered with by the same energy anomaly. I am unable to achieve contact with the others."

"Shit."

"Agreed," Hawkeye said, moving towards the prone body.

"60%, sir."

"JARVIS, run a life scan. Make sure he's still alive."

"My scans show signs of life. Sir, it also appears that he is growing stronger. The energy drain appears to be emanating from him and draining all electronics in the immediate area." Well, that would explain the absence of any lights.

"Well, shit. Hawkeye," he called. "You've gotta stop the guy. He's completely draining my suit and if he gets through it, he'll probably move on to the arc reactor. And I like my arc reactor just the way it is."

"Right," Barton said tersely and moved carefully towards the bed.

Clint couldn't breathe. Iron Man was lucky. The suit had a state-of-the-art filtration system that would keep out the worst of the smell, but Clint was dealing with the worst of it. It was a disgusting mixture of old and new blood, urine, and vomit. Clint could feel his skin crawling as he got closer and the smell got stronger.

Clint hadn't seen Cooper Hall for years and, covered in blood and other unmentionable things, he could barely recognize him. The surgeon had more holes in him than a golf course, and blood had caked his body and the cot he was lying on.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, swallowing down the vomit that had surged up at the sight of the tortured civilian. In the next moment, he was stepping back in surprise and bringing his bow up in a smooth movement.

The man's eyes had opened. Clint pushed back his disconcerted feelings as the multi-colored gaze focused with unerring accuracy on the archer and stepped forward again, bringing his bow down in relief. It wasn't a trick. They really had found him.

The man's eyes widened in fear as Hawkeye moved closer. "No!" He cried, his voice raw, probably from screaming. He flung one arm up (the other, Clint noticed absently, was still chained to the bed) and pushed at the air, towards Clint, his fingerstips beginning to glow.

"No! JARVIS, get me over there, NOW!" Tony's repulsors fired on and he moved faster than he thought he'd ever flown, just to cross the 10 feet between him and his teammate. He cringed as heard Clint's echoing screams as the bolts of purple light slammed into and through him.

"No," Tony shouted again, shielding his partner with his suit, letting out a sigh of relief as Clint's cries died away and he fell to the ground. The feeling of relief lasted for a split second before the bolts were redirected into his suit. He gave a grunt and fell to his knees, the suit thankfully insulating him from the worst of the shocks.

"…pshhuit…chwww…39%...failing…" Tony cringed at the static invading his helmet and grunted again when the shocks seemed to become more painful.

Clint hadn't moved since he'd fallen to his knees and Tony had taken the full brunt of the shocks. Now, he pushed himself to his feet and, grabbing the arrow he'd dropped, swung his weapon up and moved cautiously to the bed, blocking out Tony's occasional moan.

The doctor didn't seem aware of anything going on around him; his gaze was focused intently on what his powers were doing to the armored man in front of him. He didn't even flinch when Clint aimed his bow point-blank at Hall's forehead.

"Don't make me kill you." Clint's voice was flat, but his eyes gave away his churning emotions.

For a moment, it didn't seem that the man had heard him, but then he turned his head ever so slightly, and fixed his eerie gaze on the SHIELD agent.

"I…know you," the man said, his voice raspy enough to make Clint wince in sympathy. Casey dropped his arm and Clint heard a metallic clang as Iron Man dropped to his knees behind him, breathing harshly. "Know…you…Robin…Hood?"

"Yeah, man, it's me. It's Robin Hood." Clint lowered his bow in relief and moved slowly to his side. He knelt and reached for the strap that still secured Hall to the cot. It was actually more of a gurney, now that Clint was closer. He froze when the man flinched wildly, his freed hand grappling at Clint's arm.

"It's all right," Clint whispered soothingly, "I'll try not to hurt you. I just want to help."

"Help?"

"That's right," Clint continued moving his hand until it rested on the buckle. "Me and my pal there, we're here to help." As he stared evenly at the man's face, it grew calmer and his eyes cleared, his hand falling limply back to his side.

"I'm…usually the one…saying that," the man barked a short laugh that turned into a coughing fit that caused his entire body to shake. Clint's hands fumbled with the strap for a moment, then freed his arm and turned him to his side, frowning as blood coated the man's lips.

"How is he?" Clint managed not to jump when Stark's voice sounded just over his shoulder and, instead calmly helped the wheezing doctor lay back down.

"Think…I'll live." The doctor watched Iron Man guardedly. "Sorry…for…before. Didn't mean…to scare you. Energy…drain…" He broke off into a stifled cough and leaned back against Clint's arms.

"Hey, I wasn't scared."

"You screamed," Clint pointed out, grabbing his pack and pulling out bandages.

"That wasn't a scream, that was a very manly yell," Stark said indignantly.

Clint rolled his eyes and looked back at back at his patient. "Tell me where it's the worst."

Hall gave a husky laugh. "Every…where…" He began to reach up to take the bandage from Clint, then gave a strangled cry and dropped it back down. "God, my…hand… my hand."

Tony looked down at it and blanched. Jesus Christ. His hand was completely black with dried blood. Except for the center where he had ripped it with his movements. There, red was oozing out, enough that Tony, not a doctor by any means, could tell that a Band-Aid was just not going to cut it.

"Can't…move my…fingers." Cooper Hall's distress was becoming clear, his terror filled eyes snapping from his hand to Barton and back to his hand.

"Casey, it's all right, just calm down." Clint tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. Hall's movements were causing the injuries that covered his body to reopen, and the shifting of bones under his hand he was pressing gingerly to the man's chest could not be a good thing.

"No…my hand…can't…move…"

"COOPER!" For the first time, Clint shouted his name. Shocked out of his panic, Cooper refocused his eyes on the archer. "Cooper," Clint continued, "You have to stay calm. I need to know what's wrong with you, whether or not we can move you."

"Right," Cooper wheezed, pulling his thoughts away from his crippled hand. "Concussion…probable…cracked skull. Broken ribs, but I…don't think they…punctured lung…They drugged me…don't know…" Despite his efforts, Cooper's head fell back and his eyes began rolling back into his head.

"Hey, Doc!" Stark called, reaching forward, "You've gotta stay awake." Cooper's eyes flickered and he stared at the armored man through narrowed eyes.

"Awake…right…" The doctor groaned and pressed his hand against the wall struggling to sit up right.

With a sharp yelp, Cooper snatched his hand away from the wall as though he'd been burnt. Groaning at the fast movement, he snatched at Clint's shoulder, hissing at the sharp pain that traveled through his hand.

"Something's…wrong.."

"What do you mean?" Clint asked, exchanging a worried glance with Stark.

"Electricity…being drained…not by me…Bad…"

"What are you talking about?"

Cooper leaned forward, hissing as the movement jostled his hand and ribs, grabbing Clint for balance and snarled out one word through pain clenched teeth. "BOMB!"

* * *

**Before anyone yells at me for that crack about Apple products, I own an Apple laptop, which I love, but it has a crappy battery.**


	7. Dammit, You Can't Die On Us Now

**Chapter 7**

_**Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art; it has no survival value. Rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.**_

_**C.S. Lewis**_

* * *

Tony pulled up his faceplate and stared at the shallowly panting man. "What the hell is he talking about, Hawkeye? What bomb?"

The doctor shifted his eerie eyes to look at Tony, somehow bringing up the energy to glare. "The bomb…that's gonna explode…in 'bout five minutes."

Barton and Tony shared a glance, and then the archer looked back at the man lying in his arms. "Are you sure, Coop?"

Cooper shifted his glare to Hawkeye. "If…I wasn't…wouldn't be…wasting my…breath. It's conn…ected to the…electrical system. Need to…get out…now!"

"Stark, tell the others to evacuate," Clint snapped, wrapping his arm under Cooper's arms and struggling to haul him upright. Groaning, the injured man struggled to get his feet under him, his face turning white under the red coat of blood.

"JARVIS, are communications back up yet?" Tony snapped, slamming his mask down.

"Negative, sir, communications are still being blocked by Dr. Hall. I am unable to reach the rest of the team."

"Doc, you're going to need to do something about your powers so I can tell your other rescuers to blow this popsicle stand! And I can't believe I actually just said that."

At first, the doctor didn't seem to hear him as he finally managed to stand, leaning heavily on the archer and trying to catch his breath. Then, looking at Tony through slitted eyes, he grimaced in apology. "Sorry…forgot about…that."

Finally, the static that had filled Tony's headset for the last ten minutes faded and he could hear the welcoming voices of his teammates.

"…me, Stark! Goddammit, you worthless piece of shit, if you don't answer me in five minutes, I promise I will castrate you in your sleep one night!" Ah, how he enjoyed the Black Widow's lovely, bell-like, innocent voice. He followed the archer who was currently dragging the doctor out of the room and past the bodies of the guards lying on the floor.

"Widow, calm down. We had a bit of a communications fiasco, but that's not our biggest worry. We've got a bomb that's someplace in the building and is going to make a big boom in less than five minutes."

"Did you get the target?" That was Captain America, always worrying over the small details.

"Yes, we're on our way out with the doctor right now. Now get your asses out of the compound." Their communications broke off and Tony sped up to the two men struggling up the hallway.

"Stark, we're not going to make it in time," Hawkeye growled, as Cooper's legs gave out, nearly sending the two of them toppling to the floor. Tony grabbed Cooper's other arm and hauled the doctor into his arms ignoring the pained gasps at the movement.

"Grab on, and hold on tight," he orders Hawkeye tersely. Looking slightly uncomfortable, Hawkeye wrapped his arms around Tony's neck. He grimaced as the thrusters jerked to life, jerking his arms harshly, and the air rushed by.

"Stark, we're out!" Spangles said brusquely, concern coating his voice.

"One minute and 12 seconds, sir," JARVIS's voice sounded harsh in Tony's ear and his stomach clenched. They weren't going to make it in time. Alone, he could get out in time to grab a donut and coffee. But loaded with dead weight at barely 10% remaining power? They wouldn't make it.

"Barton, I need to you to hold on. I'm gonna have to blast us out of here."

"God, Stark, are you serious?" Tony didn't quite succeed at choking down his laughter when the archer's voice cracked slightly at the end of his question.

"As the plague," Iron Man snarked. "JARVIS, re-direct power to the uni-beam at 40%."

"Sir, that will drain the suit's reserve power severely." The AI sounded concerned.

"Well, JARVIS, that's what I have the backup power for. So just do it!" The AI obediently began draining what little power the suit still had and Tony smiled when he heard the familiar and welcoming sound of his chest repulsor powering up. Barely pausing in his flight, he took aim and fired at the ceiling, hoping he wasn't about to bring down the entire building on the three of them.

Tony breathed a harsh sigh of relief at the stars he could see through the gaping hole and took off, gripping the injured man in arms as tightly as he dared. "Hang on, Hawkeye!" He called as he cleared the sides, knocking loose stones off as he scraped through.

They had barely gotten clear when an explosion rocked their flight, sending up debris and blinding Tony with the bright light. He heard yells from his two passengers as fragments flew up around them. He knew the two unprotected men must have been feeling the direct heat and the flying objects around them would be leaving bruises.

"Shit," Tony heard Barton grunt.

"Sir, it appears Agent Barton has been hit by shrapnel. His grip is loosening and he will fall in less than one minute."

"Shit," Tony echoed Barton. "Doc, if you're still conscious, I need to adjust you so Legolas here doesn't end up going splat."

"Right," the man in his arms whispered faintly, hissing sharply as Tony shifted him into one arm.

Barton let out a cry of alarm as his grip loosened and he began to fall. His curse escaped through clenched teeth when Tony grabbed his arm, nearly yanking it out of its socket, and pulled him back up.

"Goddammit, Stark, I need that arm!"

"Oh, quit your bitching," Tony growled, wobbling in the air as he tried to compensate for the awkward balance.

"Sir, you are now running on emergency power. It is imperative that you return to the ground immediately." His faceplate's console began flickering, as did his feet repulsors.

"Now you tell me!" He bit out as he dropped several feet before they kicked back on.

"Stark, what the hell's going on?" Barton asked, panting harshly as he tried to shift into a more secure position.

"We're screwed, that's what!" Tony answered, "Unless I can get to a piece of ground that's not on fire!"

"I'll...take care...of that," whispered the doctor he had all but forgotten about, his strange eyes beginning to glow in the night.

"Sir, the suit is beginning to regain energy," JARVIS announced, and, indeed, they were beginning to balance out.

"Are you doing this, Cooper?" Hawkeye called out as they began to descend, a more controlled descent this time around. The doctor didn't answer and when Tony glanced down at him, his eyes had rolled into the back of his head until all Tony could see was slits of white.

"Sir, it is highly likely that Dr. Hall is suffering from a tension pneumothorax. Judging by the blue color of his lips, it is apparent that he is not receiving enough oxygen. He needs medical attention immediately."

"Shit," the two superheroes swore in unison.

"JARVIS, contact the others. Tell them we need a medic waiting immediately," Tony ordered, heading towards the ground as quickly as he dared. He could hear the doctor's rapid breathing over the sound of his repulsors and Tony shuddered slightly at the raspiness of it.

"Dammit, Hall, we just saved your ass, you can't die on us now."

* * *

**FINALLY! It took me so long to get through this chapter. My muse was pouting in the corner with Brent for a while, but I finally got it up! I think it turned out pretty decent, so I'm happy.**

**_I'm not..._**

**Cooper, you finally got rescued from the evil terrorists, can't you be a little bit happy?**

**_I HAVE A PUNCTURED LUNG! AND YOU SAY I SHOULD BE HAPPY?_**

***Cooper begins ranting and stomping around.***

**Ok, while Cooper has his little temper tantrum, you should click on the thingy below. You know, the one that says "Review" on it?**


	8. Warmth

**Chapter 8**

_**You must remember, family is often borne of blood, but it doesn't depend on blood. Nor is it exclusive of friendship. Family members can be your best friends, you know. And best friends, whether or not they're related to you, can be your family.**_

_**Trenton Lee Stewart**_

* * *

_It was light. He could feel it through the lids of his eyes._

It was dark. He could hear someone shouting at him over the sound of rushing motors.

_The light was real, a soft golden glow that surrounded him with peace and safety. _

The dark wasn't natural. He had spent enough time in the darkness of his cell to realize what was natural and what wasn't. This wasn't.

_A person stood in front of him. He squinted, but the light came from behind their body, causing them to fall into darkness._

Voices were yelling around him, accompanied by the distant sound of thunder, drawing him out of the light. Someone touched his chest and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't conjure up the energy to move away from the pain that sprung up. His head felt thick and heavy and the voices surrounding him were fading. The last thing he felt were someone's cool hands against his cheeks. The last thing he heard was a panicked voice calling something over and over. He wanted to reassure them, but the darkness and cold had taken over.

_The sun felt warm. So, so warm. He stared at it, relishing its heat on his numb body. He turned, hearing voices and saw figures lying on the lawn in front of him. A girl, a woman really, was stretched out on the grass, the sunlight glinting off of her light brown hair a sketchpad in her hands, her tongue sticking out in concentration. A younger boy and girl ran past her, the boy dodging his playmate's hands, sticking his tongue out teasingly. As they got closer to the man, close enough to touch, they finally seemed to notice him and they stopped their play. He took a hesitant step back into the shadow of an old gumbo-limbo tree, not wanting to disturb this peaceful setting, but they began calling out excitedly, their voices overlapping one another's and they reached out with eager small hands, grabbing his hands and pulling him fully into the sun._

_A woman's voice called out warningly as they nearly tumbled over a picnic basket in their excitement and he straightened, eagerness and pleasure coming over his features. A man and a woman came to their feet, cries of shock and delight issuing as they rushed forward, finally recognizing him. He couldn't blame them for their hesitance. It had been a long time and the years had been rough on him._

_He welcomed their embrace, the warmth of it surpassing that of the sun, and chasing the remaining darkness and numbness away. The woman pulled back and gazed at him critically, informing him in her brusque southern way that he was too skinny. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that particular accent. Her husband laughed and announced that it was a good thing they had plenty of food. He pulled back as well and the man noticed with a jolt of surprise that he was now taller than the man who was now settling down beside the woman, dragging the young girl down beside him and tickling the younger boy until he was overcome by fits of laughter._

_He had forgotten the artist sitting in the grass, until arms wrapped around him from behind, burying her face in his shirt. He pulled gently away and turned, enfolding her in a proper hug, her head fitting neatly under his chin. The last time they had seen each other, they had been within an inch of the same height. Yet another thing that had changed, yet stayed the same._

_His stomach growled at the long yearned for scent of chicken, the chicken he had often attempted to replicate, and always failed. He went along with the laughs and gentle teases as he reached for the plate the woman offered. His hands changed direction midway, however, as he took notice of the last member of their company, who, it seemed, had finally awakened amidst all the gaiety. _

_His callused hands, more gentle than they had ever been in surgery, swooped down into the carrier and lifted out a squirming baby boy who squealed and reached for the man with the strange eyes. He laughed and hugged the boy, trying to quell the shame and sadness that was beginning to rise inside him. This was what he had regretted the most, throughout the years, that this small, innocent baby had not had the chance to grow and explore his world, to put his own mark on it. _

_He looked at the sympathetic and understanding faces around him and desperately wanted to apologize. Before he could, the baby started crying, startling him. Chuckling, the woman took him back and placed him over her shoulder, gently patting his back until he released an overpowering burp that seemed at odds with his body size. The woman smiled again and took out a small bottle, which he reached for eagerly and began sucking on contentedly. _

_The man watched the domestic scene for a moment, his gaze lingering on the woman and her baby, then sweeping to include her husband and the other children who were eating happily and teasing gently. _

_He knew it hadn't always been this tranquil, that there had been the standard fights and arguments and punishments. But still, they had been a family, and he had destroyed that life._

_He had opened his mouth again, not knowing what he was going to say, only knowing that he wanted to say it, when a lightning bolt of energy slammed into him, robbing him of his breath and leaving him clutching at his chest in pain. Around him, voices called out, and he felt hands grip him. A second jolt sent him to his hands and knees, clutching the grass as he stared around him. The hands holding him seemed to fade away and the scene in front of him began to darken. He cried out pleadingly and reached for the woman, but a third shock pulled him back, leaving him staring at the gray eyes that he had once seen stare at him from the mirror and across the dining room table every morning. This connection remained, even as the darkness obscured everything else. _

Voices shouted over his head, almost drowned out by sound of engines and rotors. The sporadic shocks had been replaced by permanent throbbing pain, traveling throughout his body and splitting between his abdomen and hand. Something had been placed over his face and he struggled to raise his hand, foggily meaning to brush off the annoying sensation. Before he could raise his hand more than a couple inches, someone had grabbed it and placed it back down.

"I wouldn't do that if I were," a gentle voice said from above him. He tried to open his eyes, but exhaustion weighed down on them and he couldn't get them past slits. A foggy face came into frame, kind brown eyes peering out underneath a mop of brown curls.

"Where…?" He attempted to rasp out, but his throat just wouldn't cooperate with him.

"It's all right, you're safe." This was a different voice, deep and strong. A hand gently touched his shoulder and he squinted up and saw carefully trimmed blond hair that made him think of the Special Forces unit he had stitched back together last year.

"We thought we'd lost you for a minute there, Doctor," the gentle voice said, leaning back over, adjusting what appeared to be an IV bag.

The man's answer turned into a moan of pain as the gurney he was lying on jerked, sending white-hot shocks of pain through his entire body. Sobs escaped him as the movement continued and if he had the energy, he would have been embarrassed at the liquid he could feel seeping from the corners of his eyes.

"Hey!" Through a haze of pain he could hear Special Forces shouting as the other man attempted to steady the gurney, leaning over the body as he grabbed at the IV before it fell. Gasping, darkness began to gather in his peripheral vision until the last thing he saw was a mop-headed brunette speaking words that he couldn't hear.

* * *

**I wrote two different versions of the "Into the Light" bit, and finally had to resort to asking my dad to compare the two. I hate having to watch people read stuff I've written, it's so awkward. But he settled on the one that ended up here, and offered a couple of changes. God, it was weird. But I hope it turned out all right.**

**I also hope I did okay with bringing him back to life. As I've never had a near death experience, I had to guess how he'd be feeling afterwards. **


	9. A Cornered Man Is A Desperate Man

**Chapter Nine**

**_One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship is to understand and to be understood._**

**_Lucius Annaeus Seneca_**

* * *

_God, I'm hungry,_ was the first thought that floated through Cooper's mind.

The second was, _What the hell is in my throat?_

Cooper's eyes snapped, then just as quickly shut, blinking rapidly as the searing bright lights threatened to sear his eyeballs out of his sockets. As his eyes adjusted, he forced them open, despite the fact that all he really wanted to do was close them and go straight back to sleep. Refraining from this, and desperately wanting to get the obstruction in his throat _out_, he reached his hand up (_why was he so tired?_) and groped at his mouth, finding a plastic tube, something that he knew he would know the name of if he _weren't so tired_, and pulled carefully, coughing and forcing it out as he did so.

_Oh, that hurt._ He let go of the tube and grabbing his bandage covered chest in pain. His coughing had jarred something in his chest and he was having trouble forcing the necessary oxygen down his windpipe. Finally, _finally_, his breathing was under control, and bringing his hands back down as a brace, he struggled to sit up.

That was definitely a mistake. The pain in his chest was absolutely nothing compared to the fire that was eating through his left hand. He fell over onto his side, his body curling instinctively around the injured appendage, ignoring the new pain that flared up throughout the rest of his body, mild compared to the pain that was destroying his hand. _God, his hand, he needed his hand._ After what seemed like hours, the pain finally died down to a point where he didn't feel as though he would puke if he so much as twitched, and he carefully and slowly straightened, keeping his hand tight against his chest as he took in the room through wet eyes.

To his surprise, it was a hospital room, just like the ones he had spent his residency in; clean, not like the ones in the warzones he had been sent in recent years. It was bright and white and _clean_. And beeping.

Cooper's attention finally settled on the machines that were hooked up beside him, various lines running into his veins. He didn't notice his breath quickening, or his hands tightening grip on the bed underneath him. All he could see, all he could remember, was the last time he had been in this position, in a hospital bed, IV's running in and out of him, hurting so bad he hadn't been able to breath. God, why was he here? Why couldn't he remember? His mind was moving so sluggishly; the last he could remember was darkness and stink, a man's voice promising pain, pain that had been delivered. Nothing else, nothing. Nothing, except that promise.

_I can't, not again. I can't go through this again. _Forgetting the years of training, he grabbed at the IV's and clumsily pulled them from his arms, ignoring the sharp pinpricks of pain and the blood that began running down his arms. Still keeping his arm tight to his chest, Cooper awkwardly swung his feet over the side of the bed and carefully stood up, leaning heavily on the hospital bed to keep his balance as the room spun around him and he shut his eyes to keep from vomiting all over the floor. Determinedly, he forced his nausea down and opened his eyes, shuffling towards the door, only one thought running through his head now.

_Leave. Leave now. Have to leave. Won't let them do this again._

He reached out to the door and gave it a slight shove, half expecting it to be locked. But luck was, for once, on his side and it gave easily, swinging out without a sound. Cautiously, gripping the doorframe for support, he peered out into an empty, well-lit corridor. Breathing a sigh of relief, he began to walk unsteadily down the hall, keeping one hand on the smooth gray wall.

As Cooper moved down the hallway, the fresh air began to stimulate his mind, bringing him slowly out of the fogs the drugs in the IV had forced on him, much too slowly. Unfortunately, as his head cleared, his body's pain made itself very clearly known and he had to pause several times to catch his breath and keep from collapsing.

Finally, as he began nearing the end of the hallway, he felt a sudden surge of energy run through him, starting at the fingertips that brushed the cool wall and prickling the hair on the back of his neck. At the same time, the lights flickered and a voice called out behind him.

"Hey, you!" Cooper whirled around, steadier than he had been just moments before, only to see a man in a white lab coat running towards him, followed by two other men wearing black jackets. "Hey, you shouldn't be wandering around!"

"Don't come any closer," Cooper hissed, raising his hand threateningly, the new energy surging up and causing it to flicker purple. The two men in black wisely stopped and began reaching for the guns at their waist.

"Please," the doctor said, slowly walking closer, his hands raised in a non-threatening manner. "Please, sir, we need to get you back to bed before you collapse and tear out your stitches."

"Why, so you can drug me again?" Cooper gave a harsh snort of laughter, "I really don't think so. And if your friends there don't leave their guns alone, they're the ones that are going to need the hospital beds, not me." The doctor paled and quickly turned around, gesturing towards them to leave their guns alone. Instead, one of them placed his hand on his ear, where an earwig obviously was hiding. Cooper couldn't hear what he was saying, but it was clear that he was requesting backup. Almost immediately, he could hear the sounds of footsteps rushing towards their location, and a surge of frustration and rage rose up in him.

"Why the hell can't you people just leave me ALONE!" Cooper bellowed, losing the already tenuous thread of control he had on his re-emerging powers. The three men in front of him cried out and covered their heads as half of the fluorescent lights in the hallway blew out, scattering shattered glass around them and leaving the hallway dark.

The two soldiers grabbed the doctor and began pulling him back towards where Brent assumed their comrades were waiting. Cooper reached out a trembling hand and leaned against the wall, breathing quickly and shallowly so as not to aggravate his ribs.

_Fuck, I can't lose control like that again. My powers are the only thing keeping me standing. I can't risk my chances of getting out of here on stupid little temper tantrums. _

Straightening determinedly, Cooper continued in the direction he had been going before he had been interrupted, reasoning that since he didn't have a clue where he was going, that route was as good as any other. After all, he couldn't exactly turn around to the soldiers waiting behind the corner behind him and ask them politely to move.

Of course, this way was probably not the safest way either, but it wasn't like he had a better choice.

Cooper groaned softly as he turned the corner, only to find a wall of black riot shields and weapons pointed at him.

"All this for little ol' me? I'm flattered," Cooper said, laying on his thickest South Florida accent. He'd learned a long time ago that his southern, good ol' boy act tended to cause people to underestimate him, something he'd often used to his advantage.

"Sir, please return to your hospital room where you can remain under evaluation," a formless voice said, coming from behind the wall of shields.

"And if I don't?" Cooper snapped, his waning strength, hunger, and fear making him feeding his usually slow temper. As his eyes wandered over the threat in front of him, he was pleased to notice a door just on the right of the hall, between him and the soldiers. It might provide him adequate shelter for a few moments, provided he could actually reach it without being shot.

"Our agents are prepared to use force to take you down, although we naturally would prefer not to."

"Why don't you step out here where I can see you?" Cooper called, a hopeful and desperate plan beginning to form in his brain. Of course, this plan relied heavily on whether or not he passed out before he could put it into action. There was a moment of muffled consultation, then a tall, balding man stepped out, his pale hands raised carefully. He stopped about halfway between the stalemates, looking out of place in his severe gray suit.

"Dr. Hall, my name is Agent Patterson. All we want is for everyone to walk away from this without getting hurt. That includes you."

"Yeah?" Cooper stepped towards him, purposely leaning on the wall and dragging his feet, slurring his words slightly. "You should've thought about that before fucking drugging me!"

"It was for your own good, sir. You've had major surgery and the doctors are very concerned that you may have aggravated their work. They'd like to be able to observe you and make sure you're not in any harm."

"Yeah, I just bet they would." With this, Cooper pulled away from the wall and straightened, bringing up all his strength and dragging a bolt of electricity down from the ceiling and slamming it just behind the negotiator, knocking loose chips of flooring and sending the agent flying forward where Cooper was waiting to pounce.

The stunned agent offered no resistance as Brent yanked the gun out of the holster he was wearing, bringing it up and pointing it at the scattered agents in the hall. At the same moment, several rifles came up and pointed at him.

"STOP!"

* * *

**So where has the good Doctor ended up? What's happened to the Avengers? Is Cooper really in danger, or just paranoid? Who's the angel coming to his rescue? Well, you'll just have to keep reading, won't you?**

**On a separate note, I'M ALMOST TO THE DOUBLE DIGITS! Only one more chapter to go! So much excitement! I've never kept a story going for this long, so thank you to everyone who's favorited, reviewed, followed, and read. It really means so much**

**Also, if anyone knows any phrases that a native Floridian would speak, feel free to tell me as I'm an Ohioan and as such am unknowledgable about the strange customs that southerners have. **


	10. Hostages, Three Musketeers , And Pizza

**Chapter 10**

_**Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends.**_

_**Shirley MacLaine**_

* * *

Steve shouldered his way through the agents, ignoring their protests and the hands grabbing at the fatigues he had haphazardly thrown on. At last, he got to the front line, where the smoke was thickest and the men were struggling to hold in their coughs and point a gun at the same time, and saw the threat standing in front of him.

Of course, "threat" was a harsh word. A very harsh word when used in context with the shadow of a man standing in front of him. Although Cooper Hall, the man Steve and the rest of his team had rescued from the compound in Egypt, _did_ look slightly better than the last time he had seen him, seeing as he'd been slightly dead at the time, he still looked like Death warmed over. The blood had been cleared off of the doctor's face and the gashes, one running the length of the left side of his face, had been stitched up, so he looked a bit like the Frankenstein monster. From the way he was holding himself, his left hand tucked around his body and his shoulders slightly hunched over, despite his best efforts to appear threatening, he simply looked terrified, like a man who had woken up _from_ a nightmare, _into_ a nightmare. And if there was one thing Steve knew how to handle, it was a nightmare.

Steve stepped forward, noting that, despite the physical weakness of the man holding it, the gun didn't tremble as it settled on its new target.

"Who the hell are you?" the doctor ground out, his eyes snapping to Steve.

"My name's Steve," said the super-soldier calmly, lifting his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful manner. It didn't stop the narrowing of the strangely colored eyes or the stiffening of his injured body.

"Well, hello Steve," Dr. Hall said, sarcasm coloring his words, "It's a pleasure to meet you. What do you want?"

"To walk out of here without getting shot would be nice," Steve answered simply. "It's been a while and I'd like to keep the streak running."

Hall looked surprised. "Well, well, an honest answer. That's unexpected."

Steve took a chance and took a step forward, ignoring the tightening grip on the gun and the sharp intake of breaths behind him. "Listen, I think what we all want is to get out of here without any bloodshed. Why don't we try talking? In private, just you and me." He nodded toward the door he had noticed between the two of them, hoping it wasn't just a broom cupboard.

The doctor stared at him for a moment and Steve could see the gears turning behind his eyes. After what seemed like a lifetime, he slowly nodded and cautiously walked toward the door. Following his lead, Steve did the same, keeping his hands clearly visible

Hall stopped a few feet away from the door and gestured at it with the gun. "Open it."

Steve did as he was bid, thankful it wasn't locked and that the lights were already on, then stepped back. "After you." Casting a suspicious glance at the Captain and keeping the gun trained on him, Dr. Hall backed up into the room until he was standing in the middle.

Cocking an eyebrow, he gestured with his gun. "Are you coming or not?"

"Right," Steve took a breath, and ignoring the hissed arguments coming from the men around him, stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, wincing as it closed with a very final clang.

"Well," Steve commented, looking around, "This looks pretty comfortable." They appeared to be standing in some sort of lounge, with a black couch against the wall, several circular tables positioned throughout the room, and a few vending machines up against the opposite wall.

"Right," the doctor said grimly, taking a quick glance around as well. "Blondie, you sit at that table and keep your hands where I can see them," he gestured again, this time at the table closest to the couch.

Steve obeyed, sitting on one of the metal chairs and placing his hands in front of him. "What about you?"

"Well, doctors always have the best couches," he said with a small grin, the first one Steve had seen on the man, and slowly, carefully sat down, leaning against the back of the leather couch.

"It must feel good to sit down," Steve said, eyeing the way the doctor's body relaxed and the small sigh that escaped him.

"Oh, it is," the doctor assured him, resting his gun-baring arm on the arm-rest. "What would feel even better would be some pizza. New York style, of course. I haven't had an honest-to-god New York style pizza in a long time."

"It's the best, isn't it?" Steve said with a reminiscent smile, grabbing for the sense of normality, the chance to keep the man in front of him calm. "There used to be a parlor just down the block from my home when I was a kid. They had the best pizza I've ever tasted; the crust was baked to perfection and they had a special recipe for the sauce that made you think you'd died and gone to heaven."

"Yeah?" Dr. Hall asked off-handedly, staring at the black barrel of his gun, a strange look on his face, as though he couldn't quite remember how it had gotten there. "What was it called? Maybe I've been there."

"I doubt it," Steve said, sighing and running his hand through his short hair, "It was torn down a long time ago." He could still remember the taste of the pizza and he could still see Bucky sitting across from him, tipping his chair back on two legs, flirting with the waitress.

"Ah, that's a crime, destroying good pizza," Hall said, shaking his head and shifting in his seat, bringing his attention back to Steve. Suddenly he choked out a gasp, and leaned forward, clutching his stomach with his arms, the blood draining from his face.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked in alarm, as he pushed his chair back, and began to move to the doctor's side.

"I'm fine," the doctor said, bringing his gun back up and stopping Steve mid-step. His face was chalky and his mouth was set in a grim line, his red lips standing out against the pallor of his face. "It's nothing some f=food won't cure. My b-body's trying to fix me, but I d-don't have any energy for it to use."

Steve looked back at the food stocked machines. Hawkeye had taught him how to use them one day when they'd been forced to spend the day being briefed for a mission a few months back, unable to go to the cafeteria.

"Do you need any certain type of food?" Steve asked, pulling out his wallet and striding over to the machines.

"What, no, what are you d-doing?" The man followed Steve with the gun, a mixed expression of suspicion and confusion written over his face.

"Well, you said you needed food and I don't know about you, but I tend to get a bit irritable when I haven't had anything to eat." Steve fed his dollar into the appliance and randomly pressed a button. "And personally, I'd feel safer if I knew the man holding a gun on me wasn't going to shoot me with said gun just because he's a bit short-tempered due to hunger." He bent down and stole the bar (Three Musketeers, he noted) out of the machine and carefully walked over to the couch, stopping a few feet away, and opening the bar.

"Here," Steve said, offering the bar to the man. The doctor stared at it, his forehead wrinkled in confusion, then slowly lifted his eyes to Steve's.

"Don't t-try anything," The doctor warned slowly, putting the gun onto the couch next to him and reaching out with his right hand, not taking his eyes off Steve's face. When the chocolate bar left Steve's hands, he backed up and sat in the same chair he had been sitting previously and watched Dr. Hall stare at the candy in his hand as though he couldn't believe it what he was holding. Steve smiled when the doctor finally took a bite, and a look of absolute joy washed over his face.

"Mmm, okay, this is amazing," he said, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. "Chocolate, God's gift to man." Even as he swallowed the last pieve, Steve could swear his cheeks were becoming slightly pinker and he was sitting straighter than he had been before.

"Well, it's not an extra large pepperoni, extra meat, extra cheese pizza with jalapeno peppers and broccoli, but it'll do." Steve winced slightly at the description of the pizza; it sounded like something Thor would order. "Now that everything's not as foggy, I've got a few questions for you, Soldier Boy." The doctor had grabbed the gun again and, although he wasn't pointing it at Steve this time, he looked like he wouldn't hesitate to use it.

"First of all, where the hell am I?"

"Manhattan, New York," Steve answered promptly. "We're in a branch headquarters of Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, also known as…"

"SHIELD," Hall breathed, leaning back and brushing his bangs back with his hand, a shocked and horrified and slightly relieved look on his face. "So you're saying that I just took a damned SHIELD agent hostage?" He groaned and nearly dropped the gun onto the couch, barrowing his face into the palm of his hands

"Well, I'm not exactly a SHIELD agent, per say," Steve said, slightly sheepishly.

"Oh? Then who the hell are you?" Came the muffled reply

"Captain Steve Rogers," answered Steve, leaning back in his chair, grinning at the horror-struck look sweeping across the armed man's expression as his head snapped up.

"I took fucking Captain America hostage?"

* * *

**So, yeah, this took a bit longer to write than I expected, but for some reason, I had such a hard working on it. Bu, eh, it's done now and I think it turned out half-way decently. If you think otherwise, please tell me.**

**_*Brent walks in munching on a pepperoni, extra cheese, extra meat, jalapeno and broccoli pizza* Hey, this is actually pretty good. Maybe add some olives next time. _**

**Excuse me. *rushes to the bathroom and proceeds to throw up***


	11. Zombies and Propositions

**Chapter 11**

_**It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it is never gone.**_

_**Rose Kennedy**_

* * *

"Director Fury, you need to do something!" The SHIELD director leaned against the leather back of his chair, his very comfortable chair that he'd paid a not inconsiderable amount of money to buy and studied the red face of the man in the screen

"Doctor Burns, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. There are a lot of things that I need to be doing, not in the least this paper-work that Agent Hooper seems to delight in torturing me with." Said agent glared at him, and thrust another file into his hands.

"You do realize that I can fire you," Director Fury informed the petite brunette, causing her to roll her eyes.

"And that's the day the Helicarrier falls out of the sky," she retorted, piling up the finished papers and strolling out of the office.

"Sir…" whined the doctor and Fury reluctantly turned his attention back to SHIELD's head physician.

"Yes, Burns, what seems to be the problem?"

"It's…that patient, sir," Jim Burns spat out the word as though it was a particularly foul tasting word and the director barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"You'll have to be more specific. You see, you do run a hospital and hospitals tend to have patients." Burns didn't appear to recognize the tone as sarcasm as he foolishly opened his mouth again and continued to blunder.

"The meta-human the Avengers delivered last week, the surgeon," the well-dressed man ducked out of sight and Fury could hear the rustle of papers, then Burns popped back into frame, clutching a file in his hands, "Dr. Cooper Hall." His nose was wrinkled slightly and he held the file the way you'd hold a dead rat.

"Oh, Doctor Hall. How's the man doing?" Fury leaned forward out of curiosity. His antics last week had caused so much chaos in the New York Headquarters that Fury had almost believed Loki had shown up again. After Captain Rogers had gotten everything sorted and explained the problem to the various heads of departments, Fury had sat down with Agent Coulson for a shot of bourbon and a good laugh, as well as to schedule an increase on hostage negotiation training for the non-field agents.

"Oh, health-wise the man is doing quite well," the doctor grumbled, seeming unpleased at this. "He is healing remarkably quickly. The only major injuries he still has are the tension pneumothorax he suffered in his escape and the nerve injury he received to his hand. Both will heal, given sufficient time."

"All right, then what exactly is the problem?" Fury glanced over at the door as it opened and Agent Hill poked her head in, arching her eyebrow questioningly at him. He gestured for her to come in and she stood just out of eyeshot of the complaining doctor.

"The problem is his attitude!" Burns exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air out of disgust. "He refuses to simply remain in his room and _heal_. He insists on wandering the building and bothering the other patients and doctors. And, of course, due to Agent Coulson's and Captain Rogers' orders, we are unable to restrain him or even lock him in his room."

"Exactly how is he bothering the doctors and patients?" Fury's second-in-command piped up, moving to stand behind his desk. The doctor scowled at her thunderously.

"He argues with the doctors on their prescriptions and contradicts their diagnosis which is causing chaos with the nurses. And then he persists in sitting with the patients for at least an hour, or until we get security to remove him." The physician looked every bit as horrified at this last bit as if Cooper Hall had been accused of dancing through Times Square stark naked.

"And exactly what does he do with these patients?" Maria asked calmly. She'd always been much better at dealing with hysterical department heads than he'd ever been.

"Well," Burns said slowly, pulling out the word obnoxiously, "Sometimes he plays poker with them." Fury blinked at the balding man, then blinked again for good measure.

"Poker?" He asked for clarification and grimaced at the resulting emphatic nod. "And…this is a bad thing?"

"Very bad!" Burns said ardently. "These men should be resting and recovering from the traumas of their injuries, not playing poker and blackjack and whatever other hellish games this man has picked up in his travels."

"So, just to clear things up," Fury said slowly, "You interrupted my schedule just because you want me to stop Doctor Hall from playing poker with my injured agents because you believe it's detrimental to their health?"

"Exactly, sir." The words were accompanied by a pleased nod.

Fury's simmering annoyance was beginning to turn into anger and he had just opened his mouth, fully prepared to tear this idiot a new one, when Maria put her hand on his shoulder.

"Agent Coulson should be returning from the incident in Kuwait," she said calmly. "I'm sure any complaints you have, he would be more than happy to see to."

"Well," Burns said obnoxiously, "I suppose that will have to do."

"Great," Fury growled, and stabbed the off button with more force than was strictly necessary and leaned back again, looking at his second-in-command.

"Can I kill him?" Fury wasn't pleading. He never pleaded. But if he did plead, he'd be pleading right now.

"I'm afraid not," Hill said briskly, although for a second, she looked as though she was contemplating it. "The death of employees by their boss tends to turn up indecent amounts of paperwork."

"Damn," Fury sighed.

* * *

Coulson strolled down the hallway of the SHIELD medical center, ignoring the not so subtle stares he was on the receiving end of. Even after four months, the majority of SHIELD agents were still getting used to seeing him around. The stares, of course, were a definite improvement over the first several reactions, which consisted the widespread rumors of zombies and running to find flamethrowers.

"Special Agent Coulson!" And speaking of wanting to run off and find a flamethrower…

Coulson turned to face the head physician of SHIELD and carefully withheld his wince as the fluorescent lighting reflected off of the bald spot Burns had struggled to hide with a poorly done comb-over.

"Dr. Burns," Coulson answered politely, shaking the man's offered hand, subtly wiping the transferred sweat onto his black suit pants.

"I see Fury has finally sent someone to take care of our problem," Burns said, a self-satisfied smile on his pudgy face.

"_Director_ Fury," Coulson stressed the "director" and couldn't the small smile that graced his lips as the smirk slid off the doctor's face, "is extremely busy and is unable to address every minor problem every department head runs to him about. As such, he has assigned me to look at the Hall case and take the appropriate steps."

"Oh, well…" the physician stumbled with his words, then caught himself, stopping halfway down the hallway. "Thank you very much, Special Agent Coulson. I am sure the other faculty and the patients appreciate your swift actions just as much as I do." Leaving it at that, he turned on the heel of his black dress shoes and strolled down the hall, his pressed lab coat flowing behind him dramatically, as Coulson was sure it was meant to.

Shaking his head at the doctor's behavior, Coulson paused outside of door 221 and rapped sharply on it.

"No, Burns, I didn't steal your stupid Darjeeling tea," an irritated voice called over the familiar creak of a hospital bed. Taking that as an invitation, Coulson opened the door.

Lying on the bed, one arm dangling off the edge and the other placed over his eyes, was a sight much improved from the previous time Coulson had stepped into this room.

The last time Coulson had set eyes on Cooper Hall, he had been nearly comatose in Steve Rogers' arms when they had finally stepped out of the doctors' lounge they had been holed up in, his bloodshot eyes flicking around with paranoid fear in them, even after Rogers' multiple reassurances.

After hearing the Captain's explanation of the doctor's actions, and being not unused to the effects of PTSD, Coulson had immediately decided that no charges would be filed and every step would be taken to ensure that Hall never felt threatened while in SHIELD's charge.

Hall glanced up when the door shut, his eyes squinted in annoyance, which changed as soon as he saw who his visitor was.

"Hey, Coulson!" He said, sitting up, cross-legged, on his bed, leaning back on his good hand, a crooked smile flashing. "Thought you were in Syria or somewhere like that."

"Somewhere like that," Coulson agreed, pulling up an uncomfortable chair next to the bed and sitting in it. "You know, I'm a bit surprised to find you in your room. From what I gathered, you've been out in the halls at all hours terrorizing the staff."

Hall laughed lowly, his hand stabilizing his chest, rubbing the lingering pain away. "If by staff, you mean Burns, then your information is fairly reliable. But ever since he took away my wheels, I've been grounded."

Coulson frowned. "He removed your access to a wheelchair?

"I know, right?" Hall shook his head, "I mean, I only ran over his foot once."

"Hall…"

"All right, twice, but only because I needed to back up after running over it the first time."

"Dr. Burns contacted the director and made a formal complaint that you are disrupting the healing environment of the ward," Coulson said, cocking an eyebrow at the lounging man.

"I'm bored," Hall said earnestly, not quite whining, but coming very, very close to it. "I'm used to getting woken by mortar shells, or attack sirens, of living 30 hour days filled with adrenaline and coffee. Sitting here, twiddling my thumbs is driving me crazy. Come on, you've gotta sympathize, you had an even longer recovery time than me." As soon as the last sentence slipped out, a guilty expression filled Hall's face and he looked as though he would like nothing better than to press a rewind button.

"That was supposed to be confidential," Coulson said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Hey, people talk," Hall said, holding his hands out as though to placate him, "especially when it's about a man who came back from the dead with a huge hole in his heart."

"I assure you," Coulson said dryly, "While I may have needed my heart restarted at one point, I didn't exactly 'come back from the dead.' They make it sound like something out of _Night of the Living Dead_." The last sentence was muttered under his breath, but Hall caught it and laughed.

"Don't worry," he said solemnly, raising his right hand in solemn vow, "I promise that if you're a zombie, I won't let you eat me."

"That's very kind of you," Coulson said, raising an eyebrow, "But we're supposed to be discussing you, not me and my previous injury."

Hall shrugged. "Hey, I'm about to the point where I feel confident enough to sign myself out, so I'll be out of what little hair Burns has left pretty soon. End of your problems."

"And then what will you do?"

Hall looked startled, as though he'd either not thought about it, or hadn't expected Coulson to ask. "I'll probably…well, what I mean is…there's motels…"

"That's what I thought." Coulson spoke over Hall's words and the rest of his feeble sentence trailed off, leaving him looking slightly embarrassed.

Leaning forward Coulson hooked his fingers together again. "Dr. Hall, I have a proposition for you."

* * *

**Yay! Finally got to 11! **

**So I made some changes which returning readers will probably notice. First of all, Brent is not longer Brent. He is now Cooper. Why? I like Hall better than Casey, which is what I refer to him as most of the time. Brent Hall wasn't quite as nice as Cooper Hall. **

**However, if people tell me they like Brent Casey better than Cooper Hall, I may change it back.**

**On a personal note, guess who's finally a college freshman?! That's right, this girl!**

**Hugs, kisses, and cookies :)**


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